


Why Not Me?

by Leah



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, First Time, Kissing, M/M, i like wincest, idk guys do you even like wincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-20
Updated: 2013-06-20
Packaged: 2017-12-15 13:36:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/850140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leah/pseuds/Leah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam pines after Dean, who is too preoccupied with his current girlfriend, Jeanine. Until, Dean takes Sam out for a breath of fresh air when their father comes home, and Dean begins to feel the same attraction to his little brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why Not Me?

Dean’s first serious girlfriend is Jeanine Preston. She’s just shorter than Dean with long, chestnut hair that flows down her back and is tousled in the wind. Her brown eyes crinkle when she laughs, sparkle when she thinks, and scrunch when she does her homework. Dean likes to run his fingers up her tan forearm when he talks to her and grins when she talks back, like he is right now. 

Sam’s just trying to do his math homework, but can’t help but keep one eye on the other teenagers. This isn’t a new occurrence. Sam often watches from a distance, trying to calculate what makes Jeanine so different from him. 

Why does Dean like Jeanine’s hair, but not Sam’s?

Why does Dean tell Jeanine it’s cute that she’s short, but tells Sam to grow a few inches?

Why is Sam so transfixed on his older brother?

Sam tries to tell himself that he’s not jealous of Jeanine because she has _Dean_. He’s just jealous because she has _someone_. That’s all. Sam’s smarter than that, though. He knows he’s just trying to trick himself into thinking he’s normal, when, in actuality, he is so far from normal, it’s like comparing apples to elephants. 

Sam is snapped out of his thoughts when the phone rings. 

“Hello?” Sam stammers, still vaguely startled by the ringing.

“Sam? It’s Dad. This job is going to take a few more weeks, turns out.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll drop some money off in a day or two, probably when you two are at school.”

“Thanks.”

“Talk to you later, Sam.”

There’s a click on the other line and, suddenly, Sam is gritting his teeth, listening to the empty drone of a dial tone. Sam can’t even stand to hide his distaste for his father, anymore. He also used to try and trick himself into thinking it was just a phase, that he’d learn to love Dad, just like Dean, but, of course, that never happened. 

“Was that Dad, Sammy?” Dean asks, turning away from Jeanine but leaving his hand tucked against her thigh. Sam doesn’t even have to say anything before Dean is whispering something about ‘Sammy hasn’t been feeling well’, and Jeanine is gathering her books into her bag. On her way out of the hotel room, she pats Sam on the shoulder, murmuring her condolences.

As the door clicks shut, Sam flicks his eyes to Dean. “You didn’t have to kick her out, just ‘cause Dad called,” Sam grumbles, as he tries to ignore the feeling of happiness now that she’s gone. 

Dean crawls off the bed and slips into the chair across the small table from Sam, rolling his knuckles on the cheap tabletop. “Sure, I did,” Dean teases. “You’re always such a friggen bitch after you talk to Dad, I didn’t wanna scare her.” 

“Whatever, you jerk,” Sam shoots back, digging into his homework again. 

“I’m just kiddin’, Sammy,” Dean laughs, knocking the pencil out of Sam’s hand. “How about you tell me what Dad said, and then we hit up the diner for some sweet, sweet hamburgers?” 

Sam’s about to complain about diner food giving him stomachaches, but stops when he sees the charming look in Dean’s eye.   
Suddenly, Sam understands how Dean picks up every chick.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~

Sam clambers into the bed, crawling over Dean’s body to get to his designated spot, furthest from the door. Sam’s ability to protect himself has long since stopped being a question, but old habits die hard, and Dean can’t sleep if he knows his baby brother is unprotected from any intruder. That doesn’t stop Dean from grumbling when Sam’s fifteen-year-old limbs jab him in all the wrong places.

“Why doesn’t Dad just cough up twenty more bucks to give us two beds?” Sam groans, trying to stretch his arm but, instead, successfully elbows Dean in the face. Dean quickly flips over, holding Sam’s hands over his head. 

Sam can’t help but notice the way Dean’s legs are pressed against Sam’s sides, the way Dean’s strong hands easily trap Sam’s own, the way Dean’s eyes sparkle against the flickering television behind him. Before something more embarrassing than gazing into his brother’s eyes can happen, Sam shakes Dean off him, laughing. 

“You’re such a jerk, Dean,” Sam nearly giggles, rolling onto his side again. 

Dean flicks the TV off, as Sam buries his face in his pillow. It smells like Jeanine’s shampoo. Sam internally groans and rolls onto his back again. 

“’M not a jerk,” Dean grumbles against his arm. 

“I know.”

“You’re a jerk,” Dean laughs, sleepily. 

“I know,” Sam sighs, letting Dean fall into a peaceful sleep while Sam tries to get comfortable. 

~_~_~_~_~_~_~

A few days after Dean kicked Jeanine out for some Sam-time, she’s back again, lounging all over Sam’s half of the bed and giggling into the crook of Dean’s neck. Dean doesn’t mind that Sam is curled into the corner of the couch, watching some movie on TV, mere feet away from them. 

Somehow, Sam can’t stop picturing himself in Jeanine’s place. He wants to feel Dean’s rough cheek against his own; feel the way Dean’s steady breaths would tickle his ear. 

Sam kicks himself, trying to focus on the television, while Dean and Jeanine, remaining oblivious to Sam’s plights, start one of their usual soft-core, groping make-out sessions. 

Sam considers locking himself into the bathroom to get away from them.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~

“Wanna go for a drive, Sammy?” Dean murmurs, running his hand over Sam’s hunched shoulders. Dean knows it’s hard on Sam when Dad comes home, after such a long break. Dad had been gone for almost two months, trying to chase down some ghoul or something, and, promptly upon returning, struck up a fight with his youngest son. 

Sam can’t quite bring himself to talk yet, since he’s still shaken by the screaming match that just occurred. So, he nods instead, letting Dean scribble a note on the pad of paper on the nightstand before following him out of the room.

Dean slips into the driver’s seat of the Impala, waiting for Sam to fold his gangly, fifteen-year-old body into the passenger side. His knees knock against the dashboard, leaving twin bruises, and Sam lets out an irritated breath, closing his eyes in an effort to keep the sudden wave of frustration inside. He can feel it burning his eyes, so he presses his palms against his eyelids until he sees stars. 

Quickly, Dean rubs Sam’s shoulder, making a shushing noise, before turning over the engine and pulling out of the parking lot. After a few minutes, Sam feels the car stop, and Dean lets out a sigh.   
Sam unburies his face from where he’d buried it in his arms. With the car turned off, the cold night air seeps into the cracks, making Sam shiver. 

“Thanks, Dean,” Sam murmurs against his own elbow. 

“No problem, Buddy,” Dean murmurs back, rolling his neck to look at Sam. Sam notices the dark circles under Dean’s tired eyes,   
and a pang of worry shoots through him as he scoots closer to Dean. 

“Are you okay?” Sam asks, leaning his head against Dean’s shoulder. 

“Yeah.”

“ _Dean_.”

“It’s hard for me when Dad comes home, too, Sammy,” Dean mumbles, hiding his face against Sam’s messy hair. He feels so _wrong_ expressing his feelings, like he’s showing Sam the actual weakness inside himself. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Dean wonders what Sam thinks of his few moments of emotional bluntness, but decides, after playing several scenes of Sam walking out on him, to ignore the nagging feeling. 

Sam wraps his arms tightly around Dean’s chest, counting the beats of his heart. Dean squeezes back as Sam presses a kiss against Dean’s coarse shirt. A tingling spreads against Dean’s skin, originating from the very spot Sam’s lips had pressed, and, suddenly, he wants it again and again and again. 

He never wants it to stop.

He kicks himself, and focuses on his fingernails.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~

Dean’s not really sure what happened. Suddenly, he’s gone from completely platonic, brotherly feelings to wanting to feel Sam’s lips not only through his shirt, but on his bare skin, sending shivers up and down his spine. 

He usually calls Jeanine when he feels like this. 

He tries to lose himself in her silky hair and pretends not to notice the way it doesn’t smell like her anymore; all he can smell is Sam. He tries to pretend that he’s not thinking about Sam’s fingers wrapped in his hair, about Sam’s-

No. 

He won’t let himself go too far, not even in his imagination. Dean tries to busy himself against Jeanine’s neck, but she must’ve noticed his lack of interest because suddenly she’s getting up, mumbling something about having to pick up her sister, even though both she and Dean know her sister is fully capable of driving herself home from school. 

Sam watches from his spot at the table, completely mystified. No girl has ever walked out on a Dean Winchester make-out session before. 

“Uh, Dean?” Sam asks, watching his older brother fold his legs under himself on the bed. 

“Yeah, Sam?” Dean replies, trying to forget his daydreams. 

Sam contemplates asking Dean about his emotional state, but decides against it. He wants Dean on his side tonight; no fighting, no awkward conversations about feelings. So, Sam clambers onto the bed beside Dean. 

“Can we go to the video store?”

Dean cracks a smile, pulling his little brother into a headlock and grinding his knuckles against Sam’s scalp. “Sure, Buddy.”

~_~_~_~_~_~_~ 

Twenty minutes later, after fighting over the side of the couch with the least questionable stains, Sam and Dean find themselves slowly getting sucked into some lame comedy from the 90’s. Dean has completely about Jeanette, and, instead, is thinking about Sam again. 

Coincidentally, Sam is also thinking about Dean, but that’s not really unusual for him. He’s used to the butterflies that buzz in his stomach when Dean does that throaty laugh when he thinks something is really funny, but Dean’s not sure how much longer he can keep his hands to himself while Sam’s throwing his shaggy hair around and grinning at Dean. 

Instead of groping Sam, Dean nudges him gruffly with his feet, jokingly telling him to settle down. “Oh, yeah?” Sam smirks, tossing his bangs out of his eyes before leaping over the couch, landing squarely on Dean’s body. Dean playfully flips Sam off the couch, trapping him in a cage of Dean’s arms and legs. 

Sam giggles, pressing his palms flat against Dean’s chest. He tries to push Dean off him, while discreetly taking advantage of his position to memorize the way Dean’s pecs feel under his fingers, but his laughing has turned his arms into limp noodles. Dean still uses the moment to keep Sam under him, pinning Sam’s hands over his head. Dean shifts his weight to accommodate the loss of the stability his hand provided, pressing his hips closer to Sam’s instead.

“Say I’m the coolest older brother alive,” Dean demands, smirking inches away from Sam’s tan face. Suddenly, Dean’s not sure how he never saw the way Sam’s angled nose fit perfectly on his not-quite-grown face or the way his teeth are slightly, adorably crooked. 

“You are the coolest older brother,” Sam murmurs, staring longingly at Dean’s freckled cheeks. The strong summer sun has brought out his freckles even more than usual, and Sam’s not sure he can keep looking for too much longer without completely exploding from cuteness. 

“It’s no fun if you agree with me, you bitch,” Dean laughs, dropping his head and gazing down his chest, to where his body seems to melt with Sam’s at the hips.

“Whatever, you jerk,” Sam retorts, arching his back in an effort to escape Dean’s grip. Instead of securing his freedom, Sam just rubs his body against Dean’s. His teenaged hormones quickly act, resulting in a steadily growing bulge in his pants being pressed against Dean’s thigh.

Suddenly, Sam is afraid Dean will figure him out right here, that he’ll call him sick or a pervert or something and leave him, all alone. Dean’s breath stops coming for a second, and his hand loosens its grip, allowing Sam to slip his wrists out. Sam can feel his face burning as he scoots away from Dean.

“Sorry,” Sam mumbles, and his turns such an adorable shade of red, that Dean can’t help himself any more. He stops Sam’s swift escape by putting his palm on Sam’s thighs, his fingers dangerously close to the small bit of skin showing between his jeans and his tee shirt. 

“Don’t be sorry,” Dean smirks, forgetting for a moment his obligation to protect his Sammy as he leans in and presses his lips softly against Sam’s. Sam is taken so off guard that, instead of kissing Dean how he’d dreamed of for so many years, he stalls in his thoughts, trying to process what is happening. Dean mistakes his unresponsiveness for unwillingness and starts to pull away.

“Jesus, Sammy, I’m sorry,” Dean babbles, as his cheeks burn red hot. He scoots away, removing his hand from Sam’s leg. Sam nearly whines at the loss. 

“No,” Sam whispers, leaning forward to press his lips to Dean’s again, relishing the way they yield under his. Sam cages Dean’s legs with his knees, pressing his hips against Dean’s, and he’s not embarrassed by the bulge in his pants when he feels Dean’s,   
too. 

Dean pushes his hands against Sam’s chest, pulling his mouth away. “Sam,” Dean grumbles. “You don’t have to, I’m sorr-“

“Dean, shut up,” Sam chuckles against Dean’s neck, nibbling at the skin there. “I’ve waited too long for this.” Sam pushes a very pliant Dean backwards, kissing his way down Dean’s jaw, while Dean’s hands scramble for something to hold on to, finally resting on the back of Sam’s hips. 

Sam grinds against Dean, letting out a needy groan against Dean’s mouth. Dean flips them over, pinning Sam to the ground. As he looks down at Sam’s flushed face, Dean is suddenly aware of exactly what he’s just begun. This is Sammy, his _little brother_. How can he do this to Sam? How can he fuck Sam up this much?

What would Jeanine think?

Dean pushes himself off of Sam, turning away. 

“Dean?” Sam asks, breathlessly. 

“Yeah, Sam?”

“What the fuck is going on?”

Dean lets out a deep breath, running his hands over his face. Suddenly, he feels very tired, even as his heart pounds in his chest. He wants to be touching Sam again, but his hands refuse to move. Sam stands up on his knees, rubbing his hand on Dean’s shaking shoulder. 

“I have no idea, Sammy,” Dean whispers into his hands, trying to decide if he should look at Sam or not.

“Did you mean it?” Sam mumbles, not sure how he’ll be able to live if Dean denies it. He’s pined after Dean for too long. He can’t   
forget the way that Dean’s skin feels under his fingertips, and he can’t help but imagine how his lips would feel there instead. 

Dean doesn’t say anything.

“ _Dean_ ,” Sam demands. Sam wants nothing more than to kiss Dean again, but he won’t. Not until Dean tells him he wants it, too.

“Yeah, Sam,” Dean says in a voice that’s barely there. He turns around, looking into Sam’s eyes. “I meant it, I meant it all. And I wanna do it some more, but Sammy…” he trails off, his tortured eyes snapping shut in an effort to give his spinning mind a break.

“But what, Dean?” Sam asks, running his fingers along Dean’s jaw. “I want this, you want this. What’s wrong with that?”

“I don’t wanna hurt you, Sammy,” Dean nearly sobs, wondering how this evening suddenly turned into the most chick-flick moment of them all. 

“I won’t let you,” Sam whispers, leaning in and pressing his lips to Dean’s again. It feels just as good as it did the first time, and   
Dean leans into the kiss, holding Sam closer by the back of his neck.Dean moans something unintelligible into Sam’s mouth, but Sam can’t be bothered with understanding it while Dean’s fingers are busy undoing the button on his jeans.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! :)


End file.
